


The Tear in My Heart (I'm on Fire)

by TextReciprocation



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: College, Fluff, M/M, but it's literally just pure fluff, this was supposed to be angst or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextReciprocation/pseuds/TextReciprocation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...None of that bothers Matt, though. Not really. The true nuisance is the cheap perfume that rolls off of his friend like a cloud of poison, smelling more like alcohol than flowers.</p><p>Matt hates cheap perfume. He hates the way it clogs his nose.</p><p>More than that, he hates what it means."</p><p>Matt Murdock is completely blind to the fact that maybe, just maybe, his best friend loves him back. (No pun intended.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tear in My Heart (I'm on Fire)

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, self indulgent fluff. I have no shame. I'm in mattfoggy hell, and there's no going back.
> 
> The title of this fic is from the song "Tear in My Heart" by Twenty One Pilots. This fic is set during Matt and Foggy's college days. 
> 
> This fic is not beta-read at all, and I wrote most of it at, like, four in the morning, because that's the only time I ever write fanfiction. So if I've made any stupid mistakes, please, feel free to tell me! (Let me know that my metaphorical fly is down for all the world to see. I will not be remotely offended.)
> 
>  
> 
> [Feel free to message me on tumblr!](http://mattfog.tumblr.com)

Sometimes, Foggy comes home late. Matt hears the shuffle of his footsteps, the rattle of the doorknob, and the click of the lock. The sound of the door opening is especially grating; the hinges are old and weak, and completely unresponsive to WD-40. Then, Foggy tiptoes to his bed, trying to be quiet. He fails. The bed creaks under his weight when he sits down, and his shoes thud against the floor when he takes them off.

None of that bothers Matt, though. Not really. The true nuisance is the cheap perfume that rolls off of his friend like a cloud of poison, smelling more like alcohol than flowers.

Matt hates cheap perfume. He hates the way it clogs his nose.

More than that, he hates what it _means._

“Hey, Matt? Matty, you awake?” Matt snorts.

“Well, I am now.”

“Oh, shut up,” Foggy says, but Matt knows he’s smiling. He can’t sense it, not like he can sense where Foggy is, but he knows. He can hear it in the timbre of Foggy’s voice. “Hey, next time, you should come with us. It was a lot of fun. You do know what that is, right? Fun?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Ha ha,” Foggy mocks, “I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are, Foggy.”

There’s a pause. It’s not a comfortable one. The silence stretches out like a rubber band, ready to smack Matt in the face.

“You’re starting to worry me, Matt,” Foggy says, and he’s serious. His voice is a bit strained, and his heartbeat is quick, but steady. He’s been preparing himself for this. It’s something he’s been wanting to talk about for a while, probably.

“Matt, two months ago you were picking up chicks like it was nothing, and now? Now you barely go outside, much less to a bar. It’s sad. You are a sad, sad little puppy, Matt. And do you know who has to deal with your sad little puppy face?”

Matt sighs, but he feels fondness swell in his chest. “You?”

“Yes, _me,_ you bastard.” Matt sighs again. He’s been sighing a lot, lately.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Foggy says. “I’m perfectly fine. You’re the one that’s clearly upset about something.”

Matt swallows thickly. He hates lying, but he lies anyway and says, “it’s nothing, Foggy, really.”

Foggy covers his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He shakes his head.

“Whatever you say, Matthew. I’m going to sleep. But this conversation? It’s not over.”

Matt chuckles. “Okay. Goodnight, Foggy.”

“Yeah, goodnight to you too, you nerd.”

Matt smiles briefly up at the ceiling, a flicker of happiness sparking in his stomach. Then he smells the cheap perfume, and the flicker goes out again.

He shouldn’t be jealous. He has no right to be jealous. He isn’t Foggy’s boyfriend, and he likely never will be. But that’s okay, he thinks. Because Foggy is kind, and generous, and he has a heart of gold, and Matt feels privileged to be his best friend. Really. He does.

He just wishes they could be more, sometimes. That’s all.

Matt slips into sleep uncomfortably, and he wakes feeling frazzled and not at all rested. Foggy is already up, rustling around their shared room, probably getting dressed. Matt groans softly.

“You awake, Matty?”

Matt grunts. The smell of perfume has faded. Foggy just smells like Foggy now, earthy and pure, his unique human scent intermingled with the soap from his morning shower.

“Okay. I’m going to get breakfast. Do you want anything?” 

Matt grunts more.

“Yeah, buddy, I’ll get you some coffee.”

Foggy pats him on the shoulder twice. Matt wants to lean into the warmth of his touch, but he restrains himself. 

Twenty minutes later, Foggy returns with two coffees and a small bag of donuts. They’re glazed and fresh, and still warm. The thick, saccharine smell is almost too much for Matt to handle, but he manages. 

“Okay,” Foggy says, tossing the bag of donuts on his bed, “I have a latte. Just how you like it. Horrifyingly sweet and flavored with vanilla. And I fully intend to give you this latte, but only if you promise to talk to me. Is that okay?”

Matt sits up in bed. It’s Saturday morning, and he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have any excuses. He really _should_ talk to Foggy. He just doesn’t _want_ to. He wants to step back into the comfortable camaraderie of Nelson and Murdock, sans romantic feelings. He doesn't want to face the truth, whatever it is. The truth is daunting. He'd rather live in uncertainty than face the pain of rejection. Basically, Matt Murdock is a giant, clucking, blind chicken, and he knows it.

He sighs audibly for what is probably the fiftieth time that morning. 

“Bribery is unkind, Mr. Nelson,” Matt says, and Foggy laughs.

“It’s a good thing I’m not above such things, then,” Foggy says.

There’s a brief moment of silence as Matt considers his friend’s offer. It doesn’t sound half bad, actually. Warm coffee and a chance to explain things. A chance to be honest, for once.

 _But of course_ , his traitorous brain oh-so-mercilessly reminds him, _you can't be certain how he'll react. He may hate you. He may ask to be moved into a different dorm. He doesn't even know the whole truth about you. He thinks you're normal. He doesn't know that you can tell when he's lying, when he's aroused, when he's depressed. He doesn't know that you can pick out his heartbeat in a room full of people. He doesn't know about your past, not really._

But he could. He could know everything, if Matt could find it in himself to _tell him._

With the nervous stubbornness of a person at their wit's end, Matt reaches a decision.

His heart pounds in his chest, and he nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says shakily. “Let’s talk.”

Foggy relaxes. He was nervous. That makes Matt’s heart clench; he hates it when Foggy feels nervous around him. 

“Great!” Foggy puts the coffee down on Matt’s bedside table. “The coffee is right next to you. Now talk to me, Matty. What’s up?”

Matt says nothing for a moment. “That’s a great question. I don’t know where to start,” he says finally.

 _I’m in love with you, and I feel like I'm lying to you, and it's killing me,_ he doesn’t say.

“The beginning is usually a pretty good place to start.”

Matt picks up the coffee and takes a sip. It’s just how he likes it. Thick and decadent, with a hint of vanilla. He toys nervously with the cup’s sleeve, desperately trying to remember how to use the English language.

“I’m blind,” Matt says, “but I’m not… I have my other senses. And they’re strong. They’re really, really strong.”

His friend is utterly still and utterly quiet. Matt imagines that Foggy looks confused right now. “Go on,” Foggy says, moving to sit at the end of Matt’s bed.

The dam breaks, and the words come spilling out before Matt can stop them. 

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Matt says. Foggy’s heartbeat leaps at that, as if it's embarrassed about being discussed. “From here. I can smell the soap you used this morning, too. And I can’t see you, but I know exactly where you are. It’s hard to explain how, but I can feel everything. In my mind, there’s always so much happening at once. It’s like,” he swallows, trying to find his words, “it’s like the world is on fire, sometimes.”

“That’s…” Foggy trails off. “That’s actually kind of incredible. Has it always been like that?”

“Ever since the accident.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, “we are going to get back to that, and you are going to explain to me what the hell you’re talking about. You will spare no detail, and I will listen. But that still doesn't tell me why you’ve been so out of it lately.”

“Oh, that,” Matt says. He was so caught up in his avalanche of a confession that he’d almost forgotten about his _other_ earth shattering secret. Almost, but not quite.

He suddenly remembers the sickly sweet smell of perfume from the night before, and he feels nauseous. He gulps, trying to get the rocks out of his throat.

“Will I get out of this if I say I really, really don’t want to talk about it?”

Matt doesn’t need eyes to know that Foggy is glaring at him.

“No.”

“Okay,” Matt says. He _wants_ to tell Foggy. He really does. He tries, but his vocal chords are stuck. His throat is still filled with rocks, and his head is swimming. All he needs are three words, and he can’t even find one. It’s embarrassing.

“You come back to the dorm smelling like perfume,” Matt says in a rush. “I hate it. Cheap perfume smells like poison. It tastes like poison. It… Lingers.”

Foggy shifts uncomfortably on the bed, but he says nothing.

“And it makes me jealous,” Matt says. His heart is pounding, now, leaping and stuttering with nervous energy. “I shouldn’t be jealous, but I am, Foggy. I'm sorry.”

Foggy’s heart jumps for a moment, but only for a moment, as if he had an emotion but thought better of it a split second later. He laughs nervously.

“You could always come with me. I don’t have to be the only one stumbling back into the dorm smelling like cheap perfume, you know.” He shakes his head. “You’ve never had a problem picking up girls before.”

Matt feels frustration trickle into his neck. He feels his muscles tense, and he feels the words coming before he even knows what he’s saying.

“I’m not jealous of you, I’m jealous of them,” Matt chokes, “because I’m in love with you.”

Foggy’s heart pounds. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says, “I’m so sorry, I’ve clearly overstepped-”

“Matt Murdock, if you finish that sentence, I’ll kill you. I don’t care that you’re blind, and I don’t care that you have freaky super powers. I will kick your ass, and you will _die_ , Murdock.” Matt curls into himself, ashamed.

“Matt, don’t you dare for a second feel guilty,” Foggy says softly, moving closer. “First of all, because you can’t help how you feel, and you know that. And second of all,” Foggy whispers, and he’s so _close_ now, “because I love you too.”

Foggy’s heartbeat is quicker than usual, but it's steady, and he sounds happy, and that means he’s telling the truth. Foggy loves him, and all his fears were for nothing. He would be embarrassed if he weren't busy being elated.

Before Matt can say anything, Foggy moves in closer. His breath smells like coffee, with a hint of glazed donut. He’s breathing deep. Little puffs of air brush Matt’s cheek, warm and wet. It’s intoxicating in the best way; Matt’s head is floating, his skin feels warm, and he almost feels like he’s tipsy.

They lean into a kiss.

It’s gentle. Matt’s mouth tingles pleasantly, enjoying the slow glide of lips against lips. It’s cliche, Matt thinks, but the kiss feels like coming home. That thought makes Matt giggle. And then, of course, Foggy starts giggling, and then they’re both sitting on Matt’s bed giggling into each other’s mouths like lunatics. Neither of them wants to move. They don’t want the moment to end. Not yet. Not ever.

“I love you,” Foggy breathes. Matt hears the steady cadence of his friend’s heartbeat. He’s telling the truth. _This is real_ , Matt thinks, _this is happening._

“I love you too,” Matt whispers back. The truth has never tasted so sweet. "But Foggy?"

"Yeah?"

"Please," Matt says, punctuating the word with a kiss, "No more picking up girls at bars. They all have terrible taste in perfume."

Foggy smiles against Matt's cheek. "Duly noted, Murdock." Foggy presses a kiss to his jawbone, tender and light. "Duly noted."

**Author's Note:**

> "Sometimes you gotta bleed to know  
> That you’re alive and have a soul  
> But it takes someone to come around  
> To show you how"  
>  _Tear in My Heart,_ Twenty One Pilots


End file.
